“It is a great wonder to me,” began Mr Gray. He stopped abruptly. “I don’t understand what girls are made of,” he continued under his breath—“the very nicest fellow!—Miss Rosamund, please answer me one question. Do you greatly object to marrying your—your cousin?”
“I am not bound to reply to you,” I said. “I knew that I should have to marry my cousin if he were willing to have me when I wrote you that letter a week ago. I did it for my mother’s sake.” My tears were dropping. I felt dreadfully weak and childish. I hated myself for giving way to emotion in this fashion.
“Yes, yes,” said Mr Gray, patting my arm, “and you were a very plucky girl, Miss Rosamund, and you are going to have a happy—most happy life. Your cousin is a first-class fellow—first-class. I had the pleasure of communicating to him the contents of the will a few days ago, and he sends you a message now.”
“What—what is it?” I stammered.
“He says you are to take your own time. He won’t even come to see you unless you wish it. He had made all arrangements to go back to Africa, and he will go all the same unless you wish him to remain. It all rests with you, he says. Nothing could be more gentlemanly than his conduct.”
I sat very still, my eyes were fixed on the spring landscape outside the window.
“There has been no—no letter, I suppose?” I said.
“There is no letter, but not for want of thought, I assure you. Your cousin felt that you would rather not hear from him. He said I could convey his wishes to you; in short, his wishes are yours. There is just one thing more. If you elect to postpone the—the marriage for a year, I have made arrangements to supply you with funds to live on at the Priory with your family.”
I sat very still.
I don’t know why, but my silence and almost apathy began to irritate Mr Gray very much. I felt that he was looking at me impatiently. I even heard him sigh. Suddenly he sprang to his feet.